The Statue and the Maripoza Nun

I saw a statue striding
towards the falling sun,
and reaching out to greet it
was the Maripoza nun.

Mother Maripoza,
adorned in many chains
sought banter with the stone,
and though she was supposed,
in her holy ways,
she saw no sense in this
thing that's made of stillness
choosing now to swagger.

She bargained with the statue,
told him he'd be saved,
if only he would settle
and decorate the grounds again.
But the towered stone behemoth,
with simple, shaking head,
lifted high his two-ton foot
to set about its chosen way.

With his blank and weathered sockets,
he caught glimpse of local coasts
and all the wild things that grew nearby,
calling out with many colors.
He sought no more than they who could
grow high as he eroded:
like a father, full of pride,
ready to collapse alongside life.

But the Maripoza nun refused;
she scolded all his selfishness,
and climbed a set of golden stairs
to drape the chains about the waist
of the foolish, moving mountain peak
who'd thought it wise to move like man,
tearing from his rightful post
and into dreams of nearby coasts.

And so he was laid and grounded,
for years and into decades.
He stands as still as gnats in amber,
waiting for the nun to pass away.
While good Mother Maripoza,
content with all her deeds abound,
settles in to her exhaustion,
and pays witness to the statue's listlessness.

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